Don't Ask (20 page)

The irony isn’t lost on me, but in the hours following my accident I gradually developed the worst headache I’ve ever experienced. I have no way of knowing if it
was as bad as the migraine I’d pretended to have the night before, as I’ve never had a real migraine, but it was a piercing, pounding pain which drummed into my skull every time I moved
my head. While I couldn’t admit it to my parents, I was fairly certain that the headache was caused as much by my anxiety about Jack as by my unfortunate dive on to my bedside table.

We didn’t have to spend too long at the hospital. It turns out that head injury patients are A-list celebrities in the world of sickness and accidents so, rather than sit on the hard
plastic chairs in the waiting room for hours on end, like we did when I sprained my ankle, we were shown straight through to a cubicle. The doctor examined me and made me do a series of weird
exercises, all of which must have been designed to make me look stupid, like smiling fakely at him, and asking me to follow his pencil with my eyes. Then he asked me questions about how I felt,
such as, was I feeling very tired or confused, and did I feel nauseous? Even though I did feel like throwing up, and I was absolutely done in, I answered no to everything, for fear I’d have
to stay there overnight.

I remember thinking it was funny how the signs of concussion were almost identical to the symptoms of ‘Jack-itis’ – the very same feelings I’d been experiencing since
Alex had told me what he’d done. How could I tell whether I felt sick and dizzy because my head was about to fall off, or to explode (or whatever it is that happens when you’re
concussed), or because I was upset and confused about Jack?

‘If she does start to feel disoriented, or nauseous, or drowsy, bring her straight back in,’ the doctor said to my parents, before discharging me. I didn’t even need stitches.
He recommended that I should take a couple of days off school to rest, which really pleased me, not least because my hair was matted with dried blood and I wasn’t allowed to wash it for a few
days, until my wound had started to heal.

I expected to arrive home from the hospital to find at least one message from Jack, but he hadn’t called at all. When I tried several times to ring to him to let him know I was OK, his
phone went straight to voicemail. I left a short message saying I was all right and I hoped he was too. But by the time I went to sleep – or tried to – he still hadn’t called
back. Not knowing what he was thinking or why he wouldn’t get in touch was unbearable. I couldn’t figure out if he was angry with me, or scared. Surely it couldn’t be that he just
didn’t care? Was he avoiding me because he still believed I was cheating on him with a guy named Jared, or because he thought I blamed him for my fall? And did I blame him? Even I
couldn’t say for sure. Jack hadn’t pushed me, that was clear, but if he hadn’t frightened me so much by becoming angry and grabbing hold of my wrists, then I wouldn’t have
fallen, would I? Or was it my fault for climbing on the bed? Or my fault for lying to Jack? Or his, for what he did to Alex? Everything was such a blur. I couldn’t make sense of any of
it.

Concerned, my parents kept asking me what was going on between us. Dad said Jack had acted so strangely after my accident that something must have happened. I denied everything.
‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘Jack is just squeamish about blood, that’s all.’ I didn’t tell them Jack hadn’t even rung to find out how I was.

Katie came round later in the evening to cheer me up. She said she couldn’t stay annoyed with me any longer, not when I was so desperate to speak to her that I’d thrown myself off my
bed just to get her attention. Joking aside, I think she might have felt guilty; if she’d let me come round when I’d asked, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

‘God, you look a state,’ she told me, when she arrived to find me in bed, propped up on a pile of cushions. ‘Mind you, you’ve always said you wanted to try red
highlights.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, dryly. ‘Boots was out of henna.’

She hugged me tightly and I had a proper cry for the first time all day, letting all my fear and sadness and confusion and exhaustion pour out in a stream of tears and snot. When I’d
calmed down and wiped my eyes and blown my nose, I filled Katie in on everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. I described to her the party, the game of spin the bottle,
Alex’s revelation about Jack, and his reaction to the message from ‘Jared’ on my phone. It was hard to believe it had all taken place in just one day. She let me go on and on,
uninterrupted, until I’d finished. I must have talked for almost an hour. I felt better afterwards, my head easier, my thoughts less tangled.

‘Wow, it’s all such a mess,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I whimpered. ‘I really hate myself. I’ve ruined everything.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ she said, but I knew she was just being kind. ‘It’ll be alright, I promise.’

‘How?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know yet, but it will.’ She paused. ‘I just can’t get over Jack hitting Alex. I don’t know him like you do, obviously, but it doesn’t sound
like him. Especially after what he said about his dad and all.’

‘I don’t think he meant to hurt her,’ I said. I remembered the horrible sensation of his hands pressing down on my wrists. ‘I don’t think he knows how strong he
is.’

‘So maybe it’s genetic,’ suggested Katie. ‘Maybe he couldn’t help himself.’

That explanation hadn’t occurred to me. I didn’t like it. ‘Don’t say that. He’s not a bad person. I’ve known him for months and months and he’s never
hit anyone. He hates fighting. If anyone starts on him, he walks away.’

‘Well, then, maybe he’s changed. Just because he hit Alex once doesn’t mean he’d do it again. We’ve all done stuff we regret in the past.’

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Oh God, Kay. What am I going to do? He won’t answer his phone, so I can’t even try to sort it out, even if I knew what I wanted to
say.’

She put her hand on my shoulder, firmly. ‘There’s only one thing you can say. I know I’ve been banging on about this for ages, but I think you’ve got to come clean with
him. You’ve got to tell him the truth, all of it.’

‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘He’ll hate me. He’ll never talk to me again.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Yeah, I do. He won’t understand. Who would? And then I’ll lose him. And the only reason I started all this was because I liked him and wanted to get closer to him . .
.’

‘That, and because tracking down and befriending Alex was a bit of a thrill, admit it. I was there, remember? It was a laugh.’

‘Only at first. Then I got to know her. She’s really nice, you’d like her if you met her.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Katie. ‘I know you don’t want to hurt her, but you’ve got to tell her the truth too. Whatever happens with Jack, you
can’t keep on dressing up and calling yourself Laura Thompson every couple of weeks. Look how stressful it’s been.’

I nodded, and sniffed. ‘I know. She’ll really hate me, won’t she?’

‘I don’t know. She might see the funny side. Eventually.’

‘Stop trying to make me feel better. She’ll probably try to get me arrested, or put a hit out on me. I deserve it.’ I laughed, flatly. ‘It might be simpler just to ask my
parents if I can legally change my name to Laura Thompson.’

‘Yeah, and while you’re at it I’ll get mine changed to Kylie Minogue. But it won’t make me a forty-something, blonde Australian pop princess.’

‘Fair point.’ Katie can always be relied upon to tell it how it is.

‘Terminate Project Jared, it is then,’ she said. ‘Finally. I guess it took a knock on the head to make you come to your senses. Promise you’ll do it? I promise I’ll
be here for you.’

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I’m home all day tomorrow. I’m going to lie here and work out exactly what to say to both of them.’ I smiled, even though I felt like I
was on death row.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. Smirking, she raised her left eyebrow. ‘But if it isn’t, and you have to flee the country, can I have your new iPod and your red patent
Mary-Janes?’

When I think about it, there are a million and one reasons why I did it.

I did it because Jack was perfect and I knew there must be more to him.

I did it because I wanted to understand him better and I thought that finding out about his past would help me feel closer to him.

I did it because I was curious about his relationship with Alex.

I did it because I was bored.

I did it because I wanted to, and because I couldn’t help
myself.

I did it because once I’d started, I didn’t know how to stop.

But, most of all, I did it because I could.

A million and one reasons, but still the same result.

I finally heard from Jack on Monday evening. Maybe he didn’t realise I was off school, or maybe it took him until then to get his head together. I don’t know; I
didn’t ask. He rang to say he wanted to talk and asked if he could come round after dinner. He sounded weird, flat, like he hadn’t slept all night. I probably sounded that way too.

I tried to make myself look vaguely attractive, which is quite difficult when your hair is greasy and has dried blood stuck in it, and you’ve had no sleep. I honestly don’t know why
I cared what I looked like; he was going to hate me anyway, when I told him what I’d done. I guess I’d rather be disliked than thought ugly. Does that make me shallow?

Although I’d spent all day planning what I was going to say to him, when he arrived I found myself fumbling for words. I didn’t know if I should kiss him hello, or touch him at all.
We were so awkward with each other that if a stranger had observed us, they’d have thought we had just met. We went into the living room and sat on the sofa, with a good few inches’
space between us. Neither of us suggested going to my bedroom, to revisit the scene of my accident.

Jack spoke first. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to run out on you yesterday. I was freaked out by what happened. Your parents were there, and then I
saw you were OK, and I thought you’d be better off with them.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said. It struck me that I wasn’t at all scared of him any more. I just felt sad.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, right?’

I nodded. ‘Course not.’

‘It all got out of hand. I was trying to stop you, to make you calm down. That’s why I got hold of your wrists – it was a self-defence move, a wrist lock – but you were
thrashing around so much I think I did it wrong.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I must have let go just as you pulled away from me. I tried to catch you but you fell too fast.’

He held out his hand to me, like a peace offering. I took it, slipping his fingers between mine and he smiled, a half smile. For a moment, I could almost let myself believe everything would be
fine.

‘It’s all right,’ I said, softly.

‘No, it’s not.’ He withdrew his hand and took a deep breath. ‘You thought I was going to hit you. Didn’t you?’

‘No,’ I said, unconvincingly. ‘I was confused and upset. I just panicked.’

He shook his head. ‘I know it, I could see it: you were scared of me. I’ve seen that look before, the fear in your eyes. Maybe you weren’t even conscious of it, but the look
you gave me when you were on the bed, just before you fell, that’s the exact expression my mum used to get on her face when my dad was about to hit her. I’ve seen it too many times not
to recognise it.’

I didn’t say anything. What was the use in denying it? He’d convinced himself it was true, and what’s more, he was right. When, in just a few minutes, I told him what I knew
about Alex, he’d understand why, too.

‘I guess I’m just like my dad, after all,’ he said, his body appearing to crumple up, as if it was weighed down with regret and shame. ‘I’ve tried so hard not to
be, but it hasn’t worked. I keep going over and over it in my mind and I still can’t say for certain that I wouldn’t have lost it last night, if you hadn’t fallen. I was so
angry and jealous and wound up, just like he used to get.’

‘That’s rubbish. You’re not like him.’

‘But I am,’ he said. ‘I’ve done it before.’ His voice was so quiet that it was almost as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear. ‘I hit a girl once.’

I swallowed hard. Time to confess. I couldn’t let him go on thinking he was the bad guy. ‘I know,’ I said. My voice came out in a barely audible squeak, as if it didn’t
want to relay the information I was making it say. I cleared my throat. ‘I know what happened with Alex. I know everything.’

All those months of keeping my secret from him – torturing myself, making up lies and stories and excuses – and in only a moment, with just a few simple words, in one short breath,
it was out.

Jack looked at me, startled, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

I couldn’t make eye contact. I looked slightly to the left of him, at a little speck of dust on the wall. ‘She told me herself,’ I said to the speck. ‘It was her text
message you saw last night, not another guy’s. I’ve been in contact with her for months. It’s a long story . . .’